


Geralt, ~100, Posada

by mollywatson



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bar, Bard - Freeform, Bear - Freeform, Comfort, Fangirls, Fluff, Gay, Geraskier, Henry Cavill - Freeform, Joey Batey - Freeform, Kissing, LGBTQ, Love, M/M, Nudity, Pansexual, Romance, Sex, Ship, Silly, Singing, Slash, Wine, bathtime, cosy, dandy, dating profile, fireside, heartthrobs, hmm, inn, luxuriating, m/m - Freeform, on the apps, playful, queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22315483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollywatson/pseuds/mollywatson
Summary: Geralt discovers that Jaskier has been posting a dating portrait for him everywhere they travel.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 137





	Geralt, ~100, Posada

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive me. This appears to be all I can think about right now. I'm a messy bitch. I'm hoping to write more, and better, in future.

  
_[Artwork by Valkyrie2019, Reddit]_

Geralt could swear there were more eyes on them these days, more watchful murmurings in every new town they passed through. It wasn’t unusual for people to stare once they noticed him; warily retreat or step forward and spit. But until now, which was saying something, he had managed to travel without the people of the next place actually anticipating his arrival. Now there were sly glances, tittering rumours… giggles.

“ _To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn’..._ ”Jaskier sang on to another jeering crowd, filling the inn with his spritely filth. Geralt’s eyes rolled like stubborn boulders as he rose to grab another drink. To his annoyance, the barman took his sweet time in refilling his mug, all the while cockily eyeing Geralt from head to… well, as far down as he could see across the bar. The fuck? Geralt stared back at him, nose wrinkled, poised to field the usual abuse, and likely ensuing assault. There was something different about this gaze though. Something slow and threatless. Perhaps… hopeful? Geralt had no patience to spend on guessing his patrons’ mirkier motivations. Assessing his overfull tankard with a raised brow as it slid across the wood towards him, he took it up and turned back to the room, shirking off the strange encounter.

Jaskier was in his element, winking and brow-fucking every soul in the room that was looking his way. “ _For 'its naught, but bad luck, To fuck with a puck_ ,” he looked over at Geralt and the innocent grin on his face spread, lighting up those cadet blue chipped ice fucking eyes like a turquoise arctic sky. How did he get away with it? Every second his throat and jaw were absolutely dancing, that nimble wiggle of his neck leaning into every note of his harmonies even when he was just speaking, his chest hair licking at that delicious apple from a tantalising v and his naturally sullen lips somehow transforming into a relentless pouting smirk devoid of any malintent, a magnetic contract of irresistible, innocent promise with those he bestowed it upon. Ridiculous tart.

Later, upstairs, Geralt busied himself taking inventory of his potions and weapons while Jaskier preened in the bath, humming out fledgling tunes as if he had not a care in the world. Geralt knew him better than that, but there was something enchanting about the bard’s propensity for bringing light and charm to every moment despite any inner turmoil. Even because of it.

In this moment of peace, there came a shuffling outside that sounded distinctly like it was intended toward their door. Muffled, excitable laughter, uncontained whispers bubbling out of young mouths. Geralt turned to check on the bard; blissfully unaware, tracing poetry with his delicate fingers through the warm water around him. Geralt moved closer to the door at its hinges, listening out for any hint of violence. Tensing his shoulders, he raised the half-empty wine bottle above his head, ready.

The scuffles went quiet for a moment, then burst forth with the door, a handful of young girls stumbling over one another to get inside, chests heaving, dresses hoisted to maximise their presence. The noise roused Jaskier from his serenity, causing him to leap half out of the tub, then duck with embarrassment back beneath the scanty water that was left - he was not a tidy bather. The girls scouted the room, searching for something unseen but pleased with what had come across their path. “What happy accident,” one of them grinned, a nervous smile dancing across Jaskier’s face as he realised that the water was clear and struggled to decide what to cover first. He attempted to clear his throat. “Well, hello there! Are - are you lost, perchance, sweet maidens?” As usual, he could switch on the charm in a moment, though his fluttering voice gave away his shy nature. He scanned the room quickly for Geralt, as the forward young woman leaned over the bath. “Geralt! Ha. How… what’s happening?” his wide eyes begging. The women snapped their collective gaze back towards the door as it creaked painfully slowly to a close, revealing Geralt in the remains of his wary stance, wine arm poised. “Oh, we hope we didn’t frighten you,” purred another of the girls, turning her eager body to face Geralt, “It would be such a waste for so much wine to be spilled without cause.” Jaskier squeaked.

Geralt moved slowly between the girls, making for the door. Jaskier managed, “Geralt, don’t - uh - don’t leave me-” A smirk crossed Geralt’s lips. “It looks like you have everything you need, Jaskier.” One of the girls stepped into his path, lips parting, tongue curling as she looked up at him. “Oh, but we came for you, actually, handsome,” she licked out her words, fingers tendrilling their way up his thick arm like ivy. Geralt glanced down at her hand as if it were a butterfly landing tentatively on his bicep. “Did you, indeed? And what for?”

“Well, we’ve heard so much about your adventures and your...talents…” came the reply, prompting a coy look away from Jaskier, who suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. “Hmhm,” grunted Geralt. This was a problem familiar to him only since he had taken up companionship with Jaskier, now no longer able to take a piss without the bard writing a song about it and yelling it from the rooftops.

“And, you know, we heard you might be looking for some company. Or, something of the sort…” a girl swirled like smoke, stretching her shoulders in a teasing way that pushed out her breasts.

“Well it’s nice of you to call on us. We’ll be sure to take you up on that,” he said, slowly shovelling the girls back out of the room as a group and closing the door around them.

“But, aren’t you looking? It is you, isn’t it?” one of them pouted indignantly. Geralt paused.

“What’s me?”

One of the girls reached into her cleavage and retrieved a piece of parchment, surprisingly smooth considering its home, which she handed to him. Geralt unfolded the paper and stared down at the detailed sketch in his hands.

“What the fuck-”

“Ooh, gosh, well that’s - thank you for popping by, ladies, a very welcome intrusion to be sure, yes, yes, lovely, we’ll, uh, we’ll be in touch-” Jaskier, having snuck out of the bath and found the largest sheet of fabric he possibly could to enshroud himself so that only his face was showing, hopped forward to urge the girls over the threshold, leaving little puddles across the floor.

“What is this?” Geralt looked up at the women, who were now easing away, their smiles more amused than seductive, eyeing up the witcher and the bard with a more distant hunger, biting their lips with barely contained enjoyment.

“Well thank you so much, really, much appreciated, of course, very kind-” Jaskier blabbered out as he pushed the door to its catch, finally, letting out a little pant of relief. “Whoo! Well. That was...something, eh? What a trip, travelling with you, Geralt…” he stammered out as he wandered off into the room, searching for his clothes in the far corners they had been flung to when he had skipped into the bath.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“Mmm? Yes, Geralt?” Like butter wouldn’t melt.

“You know about this?”

The pregnant pause and the caught expression gave the bard away. “Ah. Well. Um… You see-”

“What is it?” Geralt demanded.

“Well, now don’t get angry, but I know you’ve been rather grumpy over these last few weeks, and you _know_ you need some… _warmth_ every now and then, just like everyone else, and I thought, perhaps, I could...help that along, a bit.” Jaskier held his mouth back at the corner, as if keeping it out of Geralt’s reach for protection.

“‘Geralt of Rivia, aka White Wolf, ~100 years, from Posada, lonely witcher seeks…’” Geralt paused. “I don’t come from Posada.”

“Oh, well no, obviously, but that’s where we met, isn’t it, so I kind of count it as where your life _started_.” Jaskier flashed a grin, testing the water before turning back to the hunt for his johns. He looked like a ghost curating some kind of messy exhibition, hands clutching the preposterous sheet and surveying the carpet.

“What does this mean?” Geralt frowned over the text beneath the portrait, amber eyes glowing back at his own. “‘MSM w/ SO, poly-pan, DTF’...”

“Oh, nothing really, just some shorthand so that people have all the relevant information upfront,” Jaskier gestured, pulling on a pair of milky blue pantaloons with silver slashes adorning the knees.

“What information?” Geralt pressed.

“Oh, you know, just about you, your...personality, your situation…” Jaskier dropped his voice several levels, “baggage, wingman, _me_...”

“What? What people?”

“Well, your potentials. Your lovers, your triste-ees, your fair sweet nothings, your-”

“I get it, Jaskier.”

Geralt moved to take a swig of the wine when Jaskier swiped it from his hand and held it aloft, draining a deep gulp and then making a loud, showy gasp. Distraction. He leaned around Geralt’s hulking frame to ogle the notice in his other hand.

“Quite a good likeness of you, I’d say, actually. They’ve really captured that cat-like amber and fury in your eyes.” He grinned, somewhat self-consciously, before twirling off again.

“Jaskier… Did you draw this?”

“You like it?” the bard demurred, picking up a bottle of lotion and rubbing it across his still-bare chest, a lazy smile gracing his beatific cherub face. Geralt could smell him from several yards away; cinnamon and rose water. “I did it while you were sleeping, but I think I managed to get your expression down quite well while it wasn’t holding my gaze, if I do say so myself,” Jaskier said, his fingers dancing in the air near Geralt’s features. His gaze fell right into Geralt’s own, “Ooh, yes, see? Right there - classic Geralt.” He jutted out his lower lip. “Steamy.” Shameless.

“Jaskier, why?”

The bard’s expression shifted, became more uncertain, collapsing inward, before he lapsed into his usual playful tones again. “Weeeell, I just thought you might want some company occasionally, Geralt, you know, the lone white wolf travelling the road less...trodden… travelling with only a wandering storyteller by your side…”

“No you didn’t.”

“...aaaand it might also happen to be a very lucrative side hustle capturing the hearts of many and engaging in… correspondence as your lovely, hunky self, with the hopefuls, who may or may not send… little trinkets and the like…scented oils… sometimes some coin. You do get into some scrapes after all, which always elicits the sympathy and generosity of those who care about you. And your...wellbeing.” Jaskier was now draped across the floor, entangling himself in a sumptuous rug and leaning his puppy eyes backward towards his witcher.

“Jaskier! That’s immoral.”

“I’m a conduit for love, Geralt!”

“You’re a conduit for bullshit. Anyway, I don’t need anyone else.”

“Anyone... _else_? Present company excepted?”

Geralt gave up this nonsense conversation and strode over to a chair, settling just behind the sprawling Jaskier and watching him stretch out his honeyed limbs. Geralt looked down at the portrait he still held in his hands, considering throwing it into the fire, but not quite wanting to. He gazed into the flames for a while, letting all the tension gradually leave his muscles, sinking deeper into this rare, blissful quiet. The bard opened his mouth. _Thought too soon_.

“Ooh, Geralt, you’re very knotty…” he murmured from the ground, as Geralt noticed the soft caress of his stroking hand along his calf.

“Mmm,” he managed.

Jaskier risked a glance up from his resting place, smiling upside down at the witcher’s gruff exterior until Geralt started to crack into a grin himself.

“That’s my witcher,” Jaskier beamed. He hiked himself up and over onto his elbows, resting his chin on his entwined hands and holding Geralt’s eyes. There really was nothing one could do in the face of such a look.

“Don’t stop,” huffed Geralt, sliding his foot under Jaskier’s arm and reaching up, hooking the cupid toward him. Jaskier grinned obscenely, warmth spreading across his flushing chest and throat and into Geralt’s embrace, climbing up to rest his arms astride his lap, and Geralt leant down to kiss his tart of a bard.

“Act two begins,” Jaskier whispered hungrily into Geralt’s mouth, pulling him closer.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hummed, the taste of him tingling on his tongue.

“Shhh, Geralt, you really should learn when to stop chatting,” Jaskier teased, nibbling at Geralt’s neck and ear, working his hands underneath the witcher’s shirt.

Geralt leaned back, hauling Jaskier with him and rocking forward to descend upon him on the luxurious rug. He reached up and swept the boyish fringe away from Jaskier’s eyes, thirsty for the whole of them. “Burn the rest.”

Jaskier drank him in, pulling at his back and hips like he was falling from a cliff. “Your wish is my command,” he breathed, trailing off with a yelp of ecstasy as Geralt committed his full attention to devouring him whole.


End file.
